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PICTURE PLAYS 



UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME 

"Cranford: A Play." By Marguerite Mering- 
ton. A comedy in three acts made from 
Mrs. Gaskell's famous novel. With a cover 
design and a frontispiece by Edwin Wallick. 
Cloth, 12mo, $1.25. 

"The Vicar of Wakefield: A Play." In five 
acts, founded on Goldsmith's novel. Cover 
inlay and frontispiece in colors by John Rae. 
$1.25 net. 

" Holiday Plays " : Five one-act pieces for 
Thanksgiving Day, Washington's Birthday, 
Fourth of July, Lincoln's Birthday and 
Memorial Lay. Cover inlay and frontispiece 
by John Kae. $1.25 net. 

"Pride and Prejudice: A Play." By Mrs. 
Steele MacKaye. A comedy in four acts, 
founded on Jane Austen's novel. With 
frontispiece in color by Edwin Wallick. 
Cloth, 12mo, $1.25. 



PICTURE PLAYS 



BY 

MARGUERITE MERINGTON 

Author of "Cranfeld: a Play," "The Vicar of Wakefield: a 
Play," "Holiday Plays," etc., etc. 




NEW YORK 
DUFFIELD AND COMPANY 

1911 



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Copyright, 1911, by 
DUFFIELD AND COMPANY 



All rights reserved 






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©CLA300918 
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CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Last Sitting 9 

Picture, Mona Lisa, by Da Vinoi. 

A Salon Carre Fantasy 19 

Picture, The Man With a Glove, by Titian. 

His Mother's Face 75 

Picture, Une Fete Champetre, by Watteau. 

A Gainsborough Lady 83 

Picture, The Duchess of Devonshire, by Gainsborough. 

Artist-Mother and Child 91 

Picture, Mme. Vigee Lebrun and her Daughter, by Mme. 

Vigee Lebrun. 

Queen and Emperor 97 

Picture, Queen Louisa, by Richter. 

Millet Group 119 

Picture, The Angelus, by Millet. 

In the stage directions right and left are used from the stand- 
point of the actor, facing the audience. 



A fee is charged for the use of any or all of these plays. 
Application should be made to Duffield & Company, 36 West 37th 
street, New York. 



THE LAST SITTING 



Picture, Mona Lisa, by Da Vinci 



THE LAST SITTING 

Characters: Da Vinci the artist and his sitter Mona 
Lisa. 

The scene presents a section of the artist's studio in Flor- 
ence in the first years of the sixteenth century. At 
the back, which is open, one sees a balcony, and beyond 
this the shy of late afternoon, gradually fading to a 
mellow twilight. Plants, flowers, statues, give the 
place a festive air. In the centre is a plain, dark 
screen, in which has been cut a frame-like opening. 
Behind this sits Mona Lisa, a young woman in the 
early twenties, in the picture-attitude. Well down to 
one side, at his easel, is Da Vinci, a handsome man 
between forty and fifty, in rose-colored coat, and black 
cap from beneath which flow his dark curling locks, 
absorbed in his work. Before the curtains part, and 
for a minute or so after, mens voices to the accom- 
paniment of a lute are heard singing: 

From a country far I came. 
Strange the hap! 
Ask not its name, 
Place on the map! 

But my heart beyond the sea 
Knew your welcome waited me! 
9 



10 PICTURE PLAYS 

Such a little while — 
Tear, song, and sigh, 
Twilight and a woman* s smile, 
You and I! 

Mona Lisa. 

[As the song ends, with a sigh of rapture.] 

strain divine ! Ferarra's music set 

With lyric words befitting! 

What means it all ? Twin spirits met 

Only to part, parting to meet again . . . 

Like yonder crystal globes that play 

At hide-and-seek beneath the fountain's spray ; 

[Pointing to one side where a fountain is supposed 
to be.~\ 

As pain mocks pleasure, sunbeams conquer rain ! 

Master! [With sudden contrition.] I spoil the sit- 
ting! 

A thousand pardons. I'll keep still. 

Da Vinci. 

Not so, Madonna. Speak and move at will, 
The background while I sketch. 

Mona Lisa. 

[Rising, comes from behind the screen.] 
Background, in sooth! 

[Leaning on the balcony, she looks over, then turns to 
him.] 
Below, a tempting parquet, 
Lies Florence, jewel-bright with youth, 



THE LAST SITTING 11 

And all the singing pageantry of life ! 
From which I fain must turn to face 
In fancy, what? 

[Indicating the front, as if it were a wall on which 
her dreams were visualized during her sittings.] 

Da Vinci. 
Your home. 

Mona Lisa. 

Sole resting place 
For fancy? 

Da Vinci. 
[With conviction."] Aye, Madonna, when a wife. 
. . . Unless 'twere mass or market ! 

Mona Lisa. 

[With a half-smile and a half-sigh, going to a mirror and 
contemplating her reflection.'] 
Poor Mona Lisa ! Such reply 

Might give Giocondo ... he whose third am I ! 
[After a slight pause she approaches Da Vinci, who is 
busily at work.] 
Ser Leonardo, is, as men aver, 
Art so to you a cloister 
No woman boasts your love for her ? 

Da Vinci. 
[Smiles, and pauses a minute before answering.] 
Once on a time, a crab, all craft and claw, 
Wooed shellfish with crustacean wile. 



12 PICTURE PLAYS 

Then, through the flattered fool's wide-open smile, 
Plucked out its heart! The moral, pray you, draw! 

Mona Lisa. 

[Laughs, but slightly ruefully.'] 
Crab I; you no such oyster! 

[Da Vinci nods a smiling assent. Again she speaks, 
but this time seriously.'] 
Is art love's foe, then ? 

Da Vinci. 
[With a gesture renouncing the issue.] 

Who can tell 
If spark shall kindle altar-flame, or hell? 

[The lady nods, as if to say, "I see your point-of- 
view, though without binding myself to share it I" 
and moves about the room, occupying herself with 
the flowers. Going behind the artist, she showers a 
handful of petals over him. Looking up, Da Vinci 
invites her attention to his work.] 

Mona Lisa. 

[Exclaims, and claps her hands delightedly.] 
'Tis wondrous strange: when to be painted, first 
My good Giocondo brought me, 
Strained glance and formal mien rehearsed, 
Prim folded hands . . . like this! [Illustrating.] 

Self-conscious smirk 
As one who from her frame cries, " See ! 
66 The great Da Vinci's self hath painted me ! n 
I deemed my sitter's tribute to your work ! 
But these four years have taught me . . . ! 



THE LAST SITTING 13 

Da Vinci. 

[Completing her thought."] 
From fragment mood one gleans the whole; 
Portrays, less hand, eye, smiling lip, than soul ! 

Mona Lisa. 

[Reflecting on this, speaks with some bitterness."] 
The soul ! A human soul ! Poor wanton thing ! 
Sport of your beck and bribing ! 
Thus wide its prison-doors you fling 
For thrush, caged swallow, ransomed from the 

mart . . . 
Through pity of its lonely note ? 
Ah, no ! Cold-blood, by rule to test, and rote, 
Dipped wing and balanced muscle for your Art ! 

[She moves away.] 

Da Vinci. 

[Has uttered a protesting " Oh, oh I " He now explains.] 
That's Buonarotti's gibing! 

Mona Lisa. 

[Earnestly; completing her analogy.] 
Master, to bird or soul such flight 
Spells — 

Da Vinci. 

Freedom ! 



14 PICTURE PLAYS 

Mona Lisa, 

[Shakes her head mournfully.'] 

Song- void days, and mateless night! 

Da Vinci. 

[After a slight pause, picks up Ms crush again.] 
Come; sit, Madonna, for the last time! 

Mona Lisa. 

[Turns on him with a startled exclamation, then forces 
herself to speak calmly.] 



Done, 



My portrait, then ? 

Da Vinci. 

Bows affirmatively. 
The features. 
Poised, Sphinx-wise, twixt coquette and nun, 
Ever your smile eludes. . . . 

Mona Lisa. 
Painter, or man? 

Da Vinci. 
[Shrugs shoulders.] 

Ask Time, artist whose master-skill 

Puts the transcending touch! Unfinished, still 

Divine, so bides my Christ-face at Milan! 



THE LAST SITTING 15 

Mona Lisa. 

And I, least of His creatures, 
Bide . . . how? 

Da Vinci. 

Divine, grace of Art's brush, 
Or . . . Choose ! Woman by love revealed ! 

[Throwing aside his brush, he strides a step or so 
toward her, then stands with extended arms, await- 
ing her choice."] 

Mona Lisa. 

[Exclaims, shocked at the crisis she herself has invited.] 

Oh! Hush! 
[Picking up the artist's brush, she puts it into his 
hand, then quietly resumes her place behind the 
screen. Da Vinci bows, resigning himself to her de- 
cision, and goes back to his place, first, with a wave 
of his hand, giving a signal to the musicians, who 
would seem to be in a gallery to one side, but 
unseen by the spectator. Again the music sounds, 
men's voices accompanied by the lute, very softly 
and finally dying away. Mona Lisa glances now 
and then wistfully at Da Vinci, but he soon becomes 
wholly engrossed with his work, as if no emotional 
passage between them had occurred. At last, with 
a slight sigh of final renunciation, she composes her 
features to her inscrutable half -smile as she gazes 
steadfastly on an imaginary world. And so are the 
curtains drawn upon the scene.] 



16 PICTURE PLAYS 

To my country far I wend 
Home my way, 
While shadows blend 
Darkness with day. 

Throat of thrush and swallow's wing 
Tidings of me still may bring! 

Oh, such short-lived bliss: 
Tear, song, and sigh, 
Starlight, and a lover's kiss. 
Then, Good-bye! 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 



Picture, The Young Man with a Glove. VHomme au 
Gant by Titian (Tiziano Vecelli, 1477-1578). 



A SALON CARRfi FANTASY 

Characters : Pictures, The Young Man with a Glove 
. . . L'Homme au Gant, The Woman at her 
Toilet, supposed to be Laura Diantv. Other master- 
pieces, out unseen. 

Human Beings: The Glove Young Man; Laura, an 
Art-student; Visitors to the galleries of the Louvre, 
including a Husband and Wife, an Elderly Party 
from the country with her niece, a Teacher and her 
Class, and a rhapsodic German Lady; a Gardien 
of the Louvre galleries. 

Time : The present. 

Scene : The spot in the Salon Carre of the Louvre where 
hangs Titian's picture, L'Homme au Gant. In front 
of the railing which guards the walls is room for per- 
sons to pass. At one side is the regulation velvet-cov- 
ered bench. On the other, at her easel, sits Laura, 
making a copy of the picture. 

[As the curtains vart, the Husband and Wife enter from 
the right. 1 

The Husband. 
[With catalogue, announces with authority.'] 

Fifteen-ninety-two is L'Homme au Gant. 
Ha ! French ! 

19 



20 PICTURE PLAYS 

The Wife. 

[Looking over his shoulder timidly corrects.'] 
Venetian. 

The Husband. 

L'Homme is French for man. 
Gant, glove : 

The Wife. 
Titian. Venetian School. Just look! 

The Husband. 

? Tis not the question where he went to school. 
L'Homme stamps him French. 

The Wife. 

[Timidly venturing a joke.] 
Perhaps his gloves are French. 

The Husband. 

[Determined to find fault.] 
Gant, glove, is singular. It should be called 
A Man with Pair of Gloves. I shall report 
The matter! Come! [They pass to the left.] 



Laura. 

Oh, dear! Such people make 



Me wearv ! 



A SALON CARRfi FANTASY 21 

German" Lady. 

[Enters from the left. Speaks rapturously.'] 
Ach, du lieber . . . wunderschon ! 

[Some French Visitors, entering, accidentally jostle 
the German Lady. Apologies are exchanged in 
their respective tongues.] 

One French Visitor. 
[Looking at the picture.] 
Superbe ! Magnifique ! 

Another French Visitor. 

Pas grande chose! [They pass on.] 

[The Elderly Party and Young Woman enter, 
right.] 

Elderly Party. 
Who's this young feller? 

German Lady. 
Wunder-wunder-wunderschon ! 

Elderly Party. 

[Consulting catalogue.] St. George 
And Dragon ! He's some dressy for a saint ! 
And, ef they haven't left the dragon out ! 
I alius had a notion I should like 
To see one! 

Young Woman. 
[Beckoning on the left.] Auntie! Over here! 



22 PICTURE PLAYS 

Elderly Party. 

[Joining the Young Woman. Scrutinizes an unseen 
masterpiece.'] Do tell! 

Is that a dragon? Mercy, ain't he plain! 

Laura. 

Cattle ! Why don't they stay in home-pastures ! 
Not come and trample down Elysian fields ! 
[Notices German Lady still enraptured.'] 
Well, on my word, does she intend to spend 
The whole day, wunderschoning here? I beg 
Your pardon ! 

German Lady. 

Fraulein ? 

Laura. 

You are not, as you 
May think, transparent! 

German Lady. 

[Apologetically, moving away.] 
Fraulein ! 

Laura. 

Thanks. The Louvre 
Contains some other works of interest! . . . 
The creature acts as if she thought she owned 
This portrait! [Jealously.] 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 23 

Young Man with Glove. 
[Slightly bored.'] Oh, ta, ta! 

Laura. 

[Agitated.'] What's that! 
It seemed to move, to say — 

Young Man with Glove. 

Oh, ta, ta, ta! 

[Unable to believe the evidence of her senses, Laura 
resumes worlc. Teacher and Class enter from the 
left] 

Teacher. 

[Dictating from Baedeker.] 

Giorgione's work. 
Take notes. " A Rustic Festival." 

Class. 

[Mechanically, taking notes.] 
Giorgione, Rustic Festival. 

Teacher. 

[Dictating.] 
Remark the depth and warmth of coloring, 
Rich treatment of the landscape! 

Youngest Pupil. 

[LooTcing at the picture.] 

I don't see 
The landscape! 



24 PICTURE PLAYS 

Teacher. 
Well, it's here! [Indicating Baedeker, then glances 
up at picture.'] Oh, wait a bit ! 

[Turns over leaves, -finding place.] 
The After-Dinner Concert . . . Magdalen 
With Ointment . . . Here we are. Young Man in 
Black with Glove. 

Some of the Class. 
[Mechanically , talcing notes.'] 

Young Man in Black Glove. 

Others. 
Black Young Man in Glove ! 

The Oldest Pupil. 

What must we say 
Of this? 

Teacher. 
[Dictating.] "An admirable portrait . . ." 

Class 
An admirable portrait. 

Youngest Pupil. 

Please. Portrait 
Of whom? 

Oldest Pupil. 
[Glancing up at picture.'] 
Why, Portrait of a Man! 



A SALON CARRfi FANTASY 25 



Of course! 



Class. 
[Glancing up at picture."] 

Teacher. 
[Consulting Baedeker.] 

No, no. " An admirable portrait of 
His Middle Period." 

Class. 
[Writing.'] His Middle Period. 



Oldest Pupil. 
How much must we admire this : very much ? 

Teacher. 

Marked with but one star, no; not very much. 

In the Salon Carre, admire, of course. 

One star, more admiration than for those 

Without one. But unstinted raptures keep 

For double-stars. For instance, this one, here . . . 

[Leading to the right.] 
St. Catharine — Correggio. All take notes. 
Of which Vasari savs — 

Youngest Pupil. 

[Lingering.] We don't have time 



To see the pictures! 



26 PICTURE PLAYS 

Teacher. 

[Wearily. 1 How can I help that? 
An hour is all we have to do the Louvre ! 
" Of which Vasari says . . ." Take notes ! 

Laura. 

Barbarians ! Of all 
The hordes, nose-glued to Baedekers, that pass, 
Scarce one is worthy to lift eyes to thee, 
masterpiece of masterpieces! 

Youxg Max with Glove. 
Oh, ta, ta! 

Laura. 

Good Heavens, there it goes again . . . ta, ta! 

Absurd. Fm dreaming. Eyesight overtaxed, 

Xerves play me false. To work again. Eight hand 

A patch of light, significant that seems 

To follow whither eyes direct, those eyes 

Alive with challenge, charm! His gracile ease, 

As on the parapet he leans, denotes 

Xo haste. We catch him unawares. Xear by 

Some interlocutor — by which I mean, 

God help me ! — interlocutress, for whom 

He feels a more than common interest ! 

Oh, for a miracle. Would that those lips 

Might break the seal of centuries for me 

To learn his secret ! 



A SALON CARRfi FANTASY 27 

Young Man with Glove. 
Oh, ta, ta! 

Lauea. 

He lives, 
Moves, speaks! It is too much to bear! Help! Help! 
[Runs off, left, crying for help.'] 

Gardien. 

[Hurrying on from the right] 
Au secerns ! An secours ! 

[Seeing nothing demanding his services, he dusts the 
bench with his handkerchief.] 



The Husband. 
[Entering from the left.] 



Do come! 



The Wife. 
[Following, looking back, to the left.] 
But that poor girl in trouble ! 

The Husband. 
[Taking his wife's arm and steering her, right.] 

Well, 
Don't look! Don't meddle with . . . How dare 
you, sir! 
[Bumping into Gardien who is going to the left.] 



28 PICTURE PLAYS 

Gardien. 
M'sieur ! Mille pardons ! 

The Husband. 

Certainly not. Yon ought to be discharged! 

[Going to the right, sees a picture further on, ex- 
claims.'] 

Bless my soul ! 
That red-head hussy yonder, doing up 
Her hair, while someone, obviously a man, 
Holds up two looking-glasses ! Shameless thing ! 
[Putting up eyeglass to get a tetter view.'] 

The Wife. 
Oh, exquisite ! A Titian ! 

The Husband. 



If this is what arfs coming to — ! 

The Wife. 

That's an Old Master ! 



A disgrace! 



My dear, 



The Husband. 

Old enough to know 
Much better. I shall write a letter to 
The Times about it! 

[Exclaims, as the Young Man with Gloyf,, leaning 
forward, knocks his hat over one eye.] 



A SALON CARRfi FANTASY 29 

What a draught ! But where 
Can it be coming from ! 

{Again exclaims, as the Young Man knocks his hat 
which he just has righted, over the other eve.'] 

And where can it 
Be going to! I shall report it! Come! 
[He goes to the right, the wife following.'] 

Young Man with Glove. 

[Laughing, emerges from his frame, vaulting neatly over 

the railing.] 
A neat revenge; eh, compari? 



Unseen Pictures. 



Bravo ! 



Bravissimo ! 

The Woman at- her Toilet. 

[Enters from the right, gathering some rich drapery about 

herself.] 

Bed-head, indeed, and hussy ! I can't wait 
Till closing time, Signore, to express 
My warmest gratitude ... I fain would say 
My heartfelt, had I but a heart; for this 
Your gallant championship! [Curtseying.] 

Young Man with Glove. 

[Bowing low.] 

With pleasure duty lies in your behalf. 
Madonna . . . Laura Dianti, I believe? 



SO PICTURE PLAYS 

Woman at her Toilet. 

A point on which historians divide! 

The name suits me as well as any! You, 

Signore, were baptized — ? 

Young Man with Glove. 

In oils alone ! 
Unsired, came I into this picture-world ! 
No human mother, bore me that I knew ! 
Even as you I sprang from hand and brain 
Of the Vecelli ! But what man he used 
As manikin to fit my features on, 
Have I forgotten, if I ever knew ! 
As for a name, oft I amuse myself 
By filching one from passers-by ! To-day 
Carlo of the Neroni seems to ring 
Not unbecomingly. What think you? 

Woman at her Toilet. 



Fine! 



From whom derived? 

Young Man with Glove. 

A letter that I found 
Beside this easel. Charley Black, 'tis signed. 
Which I translated . . . But why do we stand? 
My frame why not enter with me awhile ? 

Woman at her Toilet. 

[Hesitating. ] 
I fear 'twould cause remark! 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 31 

Unseen Pictukes. 

[On the left, warning."] 

Look out! 
[The Woman at her Toilet runs away, right.] 

Young Man with Glove. 
[Looking toward the left.] 

We're safe. 'Tis only the custodian 
Of our security ! . . . 

[Leans against wall while< Gardien passes across, left 
to right.] 

St. George, come down 
From your high horse and fence ! 

St. George. 

[Unseen.] 

Sorry, 
Dear boy, but there's a fine for breaking ranks 
In exhibition hours ! 

[Murmurs of assent from other unseen pictures.] 

Young Man with Glove. 

Oh, very well ! 
I'll take a turn among the Later Dutch, 
Or through the Spanish School! 

[Cries of "Stop him! Stop him!"] 

What can I do ? 
If I play here you all complain that I 
Disturb the Holy Families! 



32 PICTURE PLAYS 

Unseen" Pictures. 

[In succession.'] 
You do! 

Young Man with Glove. 
[Whimsically, keeping count.] 
See, now! Murillo's; Rembrandt's; Raphael's, 



And all the rest! 



St. George. 



At times, dear boy, you act 
Just like a silly human being! 



Young Man with Glove. 
{Protesting.] 



Oh, 



St. George! 



Several Unseen Pictures. 
'Tis true! 

Woman at her Toilet. 

[Coming again toward the Young Man.] 

Signore, neighbor, friend, 
And, strongest bond, co-Titian. Have a care. 
I speak for all in saying that, of all, 
Are you the highest note, last cry in art 
That's personal! 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY { 

Young Man with Glove. 

[Striving to be modest about it.~\ 

So commentators say ! 
And who am I that should contradict ! 

A Gruff Voice. 

[On the left] 
? Tis naught so much to brag of, my young blade ! 

Young Man with Glove. 

[Loohing in the direction of the Voice.] 
Indeed, Poussin's Diogenes ... It was 
Poussin's Diogenes, I think, that spoke? 

Deep, Solemn Voice. 

You talk too much for the Salon Carre ! 
You should be hung among the Moderns ! 
[Others murmur, as if this were too severe.] 



Young Man with Glove. 

St. Michael! Though you are a Raphael 
Touched up a bit, indeed, 'tis said, by — 
[Loud cries of " Order! Order I "] 

St. George. 

Invidious reference to pedigrees 
Is barred ! 

[Loud cries of " Hear, Hear! " 



Oh, 



84, PICTURE PLAYS 

Young Man with Glove. 

True. Still I think lie should withdraw 
The slur of modernism ! 

St. Michael. 

To enter talking-lists ! Sublimest art 
Is ever silent! I have spoken! 

Woman at her Toilet. 

Provoke him not ! Bemember, he's a Saint ! 

Young Man with Glove. 

[Laughing, gracefully yields the point.'] 
Heaven be thanked, I'm secular ! One gets 
So much more harmless pleasure out of art ! 
But, to our muttons. You were saying, what? 
Something about my Middle Period! 

Woman at her Toilet. 

Sir, long ago it was constated, you 
Express most fully life-in-art to life 
That speaks in terms of life, not terms of art ! 
[Cries of "Hear, hear!"] 

St. George. 

That hits the nail where rarely nail is hit 
By womenkind! 



I refuse 



Hush! 



A SALON CARRlS FANTASY 35 

Woman at her Toilet. 

My thanks, St. George ! 'Tis not 
My own, though! . . . Then, I'm just a bit that 

way 
Myself! [General laughter.] [To the Young Man.] 

Sublimest heights you may not scale. . . . 

St. Michael. 
No ; not by many a league ! 

Young Man with a Glove. 

I quite admit 
My single-starred estate! [General laughter.] I would 

not brag, 
By that same token, though, am I not, well, 
More popular than others I could name 
In this collection? 

St. Michael. 

I don't understand 
A word he says what time he tries to talk 
St. George's English. 

St. George. 

Oh, not mine ! Echoes 
Of text-book, tourist jargon, student slang! 



36 PICTURE PLAYS 

Woman at her Toilet. 

[Drawing the Young Man forward.'] 
Listen. I fear not, as our neighbors do, 
Your frolic humor, lifelike charm, may bring 
Our cinquecento into disrepute. 
'Tis for yourself I plead ! 

Young Man with a Glove. 

[Puzzled.'] You plead for me, 

Madonna ? 

Woman at her Toilet. 
Aye. And for another! 

Young Man with a Glove. 
Who . . .? 



A woman ! 



Woman at her Toilet. 



Young Man with a Glove. 



Dio mio ! Dare I hope . . . ? 
[Advancing toward her.] 

Woman at her Toilet. 

[Retreating.] 
Ah, no, no, no! Misread me not! Oh, who 
Are you and I to play at life and love — 
To breathe, even, of mysteries that lie 
Our shadow- world of canvas, paint, beyond? 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 37 



Young Man with a Glove. 



[Musingly.'] 

And yet, if only dimly sensed, why not ? 

Woman at her Toilet. 

[Always with increasing feeling. .] 
fateful power, poised in bold relief 
Against your dusky background, so to seem 
Alert into a world of flesh and blood 
To spring! 

Young Man with a Glove. 

[With growing life-quality.'] 
Yet, for one human hour, why not! 
Come, let us forth into the sunlit groves, 
Where birds are singing, you and I? 
[Holding arms out toward her.] 

Woman at her Toilet. 

It would be death! 

Young Man with a Glove. 
With you, why not? 

Woman at her Toilet. 



Ser Tiziano in another mood 

Contrived me ! You clean-cut may break away, 

Our prison roam at will ! 



For you 



Alas! 



38 PICTURE PLAYS 

Young Man with a Glove. 

[Laughing."} A fiction! Hark: 

Outposts of Eenaissance I cannot pass ! 

Woman at her Toilet. 

But I only a few steps may achieve. 
And, see ! the damask how I tear away ! 
[Drawing drapery closer about herself.] 

Young Man with a Glove. 

My strength shall draw you, draw you, draw, 
All barriers across ! 

Woman at her Toilet. 

[Almost yielding."] 
We should be missed ! 

Young Man with a Glove. 

What then ? " Another scandal in the Louvre ! 
Two masterpieces missing, raped, no doubt, 
By some trans-ocean plutocrat ! " While hand 
In hand we fare to Italy! 

Woman at her Toilet. 

[Looking toward the right.] 
Oh ! The patrol ! 

[The two duck hehind the hench as the Gardien passes 

through, right to left, then rise.] 
[Just then the German Lady enters from the right.] 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 39 

Young Man with a Glove. 

Heavens! Here comes the Wunderschoner ! Hide! 
[They duck again.'] 

German Lady. 

[Begins, rapturously.] 
Ach, wunder . . . 

[Breaks off, rubs eyes, staring at frame.] 
[Teacher and Class enter from- the right, the 
Youngest Pupil leading.] 

Youngest Pupil. 

Please, I want another look 
At the Young Man with . . . Why, he isn't there ! 

Teacher. 
Nonsense ! Of course he's there ! 

Class. 
[Echoing.] 
Of course he's there ! 

Youngest Pupil. 
But, look! 

Teacher. 
He must be there ! It says so here ! In Baedeker ! 






40 PICTURE PLAYS 

German Lady. 

[Loyally, going to the left.] 
Ach, -Wunderschon ! 

Teacher. 

[Leading the way back, right.] 

Come, come! 

Youngest Pupjl. 

[Lingering, unconvinced.] 
He must have just stepped out ! 

[The Young Man and the Woman rise from their hid- 
ing-place.] 

Young Man with a Glove. 

So few there are 
To whom we bear a real message . . . Come ! 
In native Italy fullness of life 
Awaits us ! Oh, once more to be where first 
We saw the light! 

Woman at her Toilet. 
The light saw us, you mean ! 

Young Man with a Glove. 

One time were man and woman we, altho 
Till now have I denied it, knew it not ! 

Woman at her Toilet. 
Ah, no, no, no! 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 41 

Young Man with a Glove. 

Already feel you not 
A quickening? A something here? 
[Hand on heart.'] 

Woman at her Toilet. 
[Puts up hands as if to ward off danger.'] 

Ah, no! 
Have pity! 

Young Man with a Glove. 

Come ... to life! Come back to life, 
I should have said! 

Woman *t her Toilet. 

Heaven, be merciful! 
For us there is no life — there never was ! 
What man and woman sat for us, long since 
Are dust, their souls with God ! 

Young Man with a Glove. 
Then what are we? 

Woman at her Toilet. 

Poor simulacra only, that reveal, 

By grace of art, life to the living, yet 

Have none ourselves. Half-lengths — 'Tis all we are ! — 

Below the frame-line we are just inferred — 

As Titian would have rendered us, as 'twere, 

From waist to toe ! — By lif elikeness beguiled, 

If life's forbidden fruit to taste we seek, 

We perish ! 



42 PICTURE PLAYS 

Young Man with a Glove. 
Then, what woman meant you now? 

Woman - at her Toilet. 

Poor fool adoringly long hours who spends 
Before you at her easel ! 
[Pointing to Laura's copy.'] 

Young Man with a Glove. 

[Laughs.'] Oh, ta, ta! [Examines copy.] 

Ye shades of Titian, what a travesty! 

Woman at her Toilet. 

E'en as the call of life to you and me 
To be forever blotted out would mean, 
One step across the line, her world from ours 
Dividing, for that girl spells madness! 

Young Man with a Glove. 

[Shocked at the idea.] Oh ! 

Though mortals rank a race inferior 
To art-creations — 

Woman at her Toilet. 
I should say so! 

Young Man with a Glove. 



Still, 



Their suffrage 'tis on us confers our claim 
To immortality ! Sooner than harm 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 43 

A hair on silly head of one, then, I 

Could wish myself a landscape, seapiece, aye, 

Truncated cherub, even! anything 

But what I am! 

Woman at her Toilet. 

[Applauding.'] 
Oh, worthy of our School! 

[Voices are heard on the left.] 
But, hark! Quick! Quick! Back to our frames! 
[The two hurriedly return to their places, the Woman* 
going to the right, the Young Man getting into his 
frame.~\ 
[The Glove Young Man enters from the right.'] 

Glove Young Man. 

Laura! Hey, Laura! . . . Why, they said I sure 
Should find her here ! I must have lost my way 
Again. [Gardien passes through from left to right.] 
Conductor ! 

Gardien. 

Eh, m'sieur? 

Glove Young Man. 
Is this Saloon carre ? [Mispronouncing.] 

Gardien. 
[Enquiring ly. ] M'sieur ? 



44 PICTURE PLAYS 

Glove Young Man. 

Or words 
To that effect? 

Gardien. 

[Shrugs shoulders, deprecating inability io understand.^] 
M'sieur! [Passes on.] 

Glove Young Man. 

I give it up ! 

[Sits, pushes hat on back of head, consults guide- 
book.] 

The Husband. 

[Entering from the right, followed by the wife.] 

We'll cut the rest. We've seen 
Enough to say we've seen them ! And go get 
A cup of tea, if decent tea is found 
In Paris ! 

The Wife. 

I should like a bun, if one 
Can find one ! 

The Husband. 

[Dogmatically.] Bun is a French word. 

I've heard it frequently ! 

The Wife. 

But bun in French 
Does not mean English bun ! 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 45 

The Husband. 

[With finality.'] In English, French, — 

In any language bun means bun ! What else 
Could bun mean, except bun — just bun! 

Glove Young Man. 

[Closes guide-booh, rising.'] 
Since English doesn't work 
I'll try my French ! Ahem ! Pardon, monsieur ! 
Comprenez-vous anglais? [Speaking laboriously.] 

The Husband. 

Certainly not! 
How dare you ask me ! Come ! 
[Leads wife away, to the left.] 

Glove Young Man. 
I give it up ! [Sinks lack on bench.] 

Elderly Party. 
[Entering from the left with Young Woman.] 

They're very fine, 
No doubt, but give me cheerful art, like Pigs 
In Clover, Dancing in a Barn. Or things 
That make you cry. Last Days of Pompeii! 
Pictures of common things, home-folks you know ! 
That's my style ! 

Young Woman. 

[Protesting.] 
Auntie! Shocking! This is ART! 



46 PICTURE PLAYS 

Glove Young Man, 

Guess I'll try my French on this bunch ! . . . Hem ! 
Parlez-vous Frangais, s'il vous plait, Madame? 

Young Woman. 

[Explaining to the Elderly Party in undertone."] 
I think he's asking you in French if you 
Speak French! 

Elderly Party. 

[Flustered, asks Young Woman.] 
Do I speak French or do I not ? 
And how in French shall I tell him if I 
Speak French or not? 

Young Woman. 

Leave him to me ! [Gets out conversation manual.'] 
"Non, ma chere marraine, le soldat n'as pas avale le 
tisonier, mais la f emme du boulanger a un petit chien 
chinois." [Slowly, reading.] 

Glove Young Man. 

Fine day, indeed, as you remark ! . . . I give it up ! 
[He is about to go, when the Elderly Party recog- 
nizes him.] 

Elderly Party. 
Ef it ain't Charley Black ! 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 47 

Young Woman. 

Why, so it is! 
Why, Charley! 

Glove Young Man. 

Mrs. Johnson! Mandy! This 
Is great ! [They shake hands.'] 

Elderly Party. 
What brings you here? 

Young Woman. 

ART, same as ns, 



Of course ! 



Glove Young Man. 



Not on your life. For one thing, gloves. 

I'm buyer for our firm, you know. And, next, 

The usual thing. 

Young Woman. 
A girl ! 

Glove Young Man. 

The girl ! She's here 
Somewhereabouts, messing with paint ! 

Young Woman. 

Maybe 
I know her. Reddish hair and rather plain? 



48 PICTURE PLAYS 

Glove Young Man. 

Hair auburn. Girl a peach! . . . Why, there she 

is! 
Laura! [Looking toward the left.] Laura, dear! 

Elderly Party. 

[Making signs to Young Woman, and going away, right.] 
Two's company. 

Young Woman. 

[Following, looks back, appraising Laura.] 
Distinctly red, and plain ! 

Laura. 

[Coldly.] 
Charles, this is a surprise ! 

Glove Young Man. 

Intended so ! 
But, say a joyful one! 

Laura. 

I — I — My breath 



You've stolen! 



Glove Young Man. 
[Trying to kiss her.] 
Sweetheart ! Let me give it back ! 



A SALON CARRfi FANTASY 49 



So public! 



Laura. 
[Repulsing Mm.'] 

Glove Young Man. 



[Looking about.] Not a soul in sight. Unless 

You count that guy there! [Indicating portrait.] 

Laura. 

Mr. Black! I beg, 
Insist, that you withdraw. . . . 

Glove Young Man. 
[Puzzled.] What, guy? 

Laura. 

[Shudders.] The word, 

Also your person, from this Presence ! 



Glove Young Man. 



What 



In thunder do you mean ! 



Laura. 

[Teeth on edge.] 
Thunder, indeed! 

[She resumes her painting. Puzzled and discom- 
fited, the Glove Young Man sits on the bench.] 



50 PICTURE PLAYS 

Glove Young Man. 

[After a pause.] 
Delightful weather. Though a thunderstorm 
Seems in the air! [Another pause.] Not a bad-look- 
ing guy. . . . 
Beg pardon! [Rises and bows to the portrait.'] Indi- 
vidual ! 
And, from his sample there, he carries quite 
As fine a line of gloves as I myself ! 

Laura. 

[Rises, shrieks, waving paint-brush.] 
Creature ! 

Glove Young Man. 
Kef erring to yours truly? 



Laura. 

Begone ! 

Glove Young Man. 

[Unable to believe it.] 
Begone means Git? Skidoo? 

Laura. 
As pleases you, but do it ! 



Aye! 



Translate 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 51 

Glove Young Man. 

[LooTcs at her in silence, then turns to go, but suddenly 
changes his mind.~\ 

Fll be hanged 
If I . . . What ails you, girl? 

Laura. 

I can't explain. 

Glove Young Man. 
You loved me. . . . 

Laura. 
Rather, thought I did ! 

Glove Young Man. 

Nonsense ! 
You loved me well enough to promise — Yes, 
You promised. 

Laura. 

[Wildly.] 
Spare me this remembrancing ! 

Glove Young Man. 
What makes you talk so queerly! 

Laura. 

Who are you 
To comprehend, were I to tell ! 



52 PICTURE PLAYS 

Glove Young Man. 

You try ! 

Poetry-stuff's not my long suit, but I 
Can do a lot of comprehending ! Fire 
Away ! . • . [#tte.] Engagement's off ? 

Laura. 

It never was ! 

Glove Young Man. 

What's come between us? You're the only girl 

In all the world for me I And I am just 

The same old Charley-boy you've always known I 

Laura. 

[Hands over ears, shudders, then apostrophizes picture.] 
Forgive, Masterpiece, this squalid scene! 

Glove Young Man. 
Why, where does he come in? 

Laura. 

[Takes a sudden resolution, and addresses Glove Young 

Man.] 

The I erstwhile 
You knew no longer am the I you see ! 

Glove Young Man. 

[Considers this.] 
I'm getting it ! Go on ! 



A SALON CARRf FANTASY 53 

Laura. 

Into mine own 
Came I, this very hour ! 

Glove Young Man. 

Yea, verily! 
Go right ahead ! 

Laura. 

To me hath been vouchsafed 
Behind the veil to glimpse, art's face that screens 
From gaze profane ! 

Glove Young Man. 

[Airily.'] I haven't an idea 

Where we are bound for, but we're on the way ! 

Laura. 
To-day I start upon a pilgrimage! 

Glove Young Man. 

[Starts up.] 
Where . . . where's your ticket taken to? 

Laura. 

[Impressively.'] 

This spot! 

Glove Young Man. 
She's crazy! [Falling back into seat.] 



54, PICTURE PLAYS 

Laura.. 

Standing here, shall I be drawn 
Across the border-line dividing art 
From life, as such as yon conceive it! 

Woman - at her Toilet. 

[Unseen, mournfully.'] Oh! 

[Mournful echoes resound through the gallery.'] 

Laura. 

[Listens, a moment, puzzled, then continues.] 
Absorbed, as 'twere, in yonder dusky shades. 

[Indicating portrait.] 
Forth into sunlit groves the real I 
Shall fare, and not alone! in Italy! 

[The mournful exclamations are repeated with ir\r 
tensity.] 

Glove Young Man. 

[Wrought up to passion.] 
She's mad! This is your work, you villain, you! 
[Throws his gloves into the face of the portrait.] 
[Laura shrieks wildly; cries of indignation from all 
the pictures are heard. There is a flash of light- 
ning, followed oy a loud thunder-clap. Then the 
Young Man with a Glove and the Woman at 
her Toilet are seen in the foreground, together^] 

Woman at her Toilet. 
'Tis as I feared! Oh, save her! 



A SALON CARRfi FANTASY 55 

Young Man with a Glove. 

. . . And ourselves! 
[Together the two stand, arms upraised, appealing.'] 

Young Man with a Glove and Woman at her Toilet 

comrades! Ye Co-Masterpieces, here 
Collected! In the sacred name of art 
Avenge the insult that, offered to one, 
Is offered to us all ! 

[Cries from Unseen Pictures of "We will!*'] 

Saints Michael, George, 
Of Raphael. . . . 

The Two Saints. 
Here ! Here ! 

Young Man with a Glove. 
Works of Poussin — ! 



Here! 



Unseen Pictures. 



Young Man with Gloves. 



Correggios! Michelangelos ! Rembrandts! 
Da Vincis ! Rubens' ! Antony Van Dycks ! 
Paolo Veronese ! Rembrandts ! 
[All answer to the roll-call.'] 
Help, in the name of Titian, and of art ! 

[There is a vivid flash of lightning, followed by a ter- 
rific thunder-clap. When the momentary darhness 
passes it is seen that the Young Man with a Glove 



56 PICTURE PLAYS 

and the\ Woman" at her Toilet have disappeared; 
Laura is lying on the bench, swooning, or asleep, 
while the Glove Young Man is in the picture-pose, 
within the frame.'] 

Glove Young Man. 
[After a pause, breaking his picture-pose, addresses an 
imaginary audience.] 
Yes, it's me all right, 
The same old Charley-boy you know ! I can't explain 
My present straitened circumstances, but 
I'm quite aware how foolish I must look ! 

Unseen Pictures. 
[Menacingly, with a clash of swords.] 
Hush! 

Glove Young Man. 

[Leaning forward, addresses them.] 
Ladies, Gentlemen, and Landscapes! 
This is an honor I did not expect ! 
But since 'tis thrust upon me. . . . 

Unseen Pictures. 

Hush! [As before.] 

Glove Young Man. 
I won't hush! . . . May I smoke? . . . Oh, 

very well ! 
If no one wants to play. . . . But just you wait ! 
[Resumes picture-pose. Gardien passes through, 
right to left] 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 57 

Hey, Conductor! Stop this car! I want to get out! 
Conductor ! 
[Gardien passes on without noticing him. Pictures 
threaten as before. Elderly Party and Young 
Woman enter from the right.} 

Elderly Party. 

I wonder how them two young courtm' folks 

Is gittin' on! . . . Say, Mandy, don't this look 

Like Charley Black ! [Staring at Glove Young Man.] 

Glove Young Man. 

[Raising hat.] 
Oh, Mrs. Johnson ! Mandy ! How-de-do ! 
Would you mind calling up a messenger ? 
Of course I'm doing this for pleasure, but . . . 

Elderly Party. 
It is his living image ! 

Young Woman. 

[Shocked.] Charley Black, 

Indeed? Why, Auntie, this is Art! 
[They go out, left.] 



Glove Young Man. 



Fm art, 



Ami? We'll see! 

Unseen Pictures. 
Hush ! [The Husband and Wife enter from the left.] 



58 PICTURE PLAYS 

The Husband. 

[Looking about."] This is the room 

We started from. We've lost our way again ! 
These galleries are wretchedly mapped out ! 
I shall report . . . 

Glove Young Man. 

Beg pardon! I myself 
Have lost my way, and so if you . . . 

The Wife. 

My dear ! 
That portrait raised its hat to me ! 

The Husband. 

What's that? 
How dare you, sir, take such a liberty ! 

[Shaking his fist at the Glove Young Man.] 

The Wife. 
I think he wants to know the time ! . . . Quarter 
To five ! 

[Consulting her watch, tells the Glove Young Max.] 

Glove Young Man. 
[Groans.] 
What, nearly time to close! 



The Wife. 

He's telling us it's nearly time to close ! 
Most civil of him! 



My dear, 



A SALON CARRfi FANTASY 59 

The Husband. 

A disgrace to Art! 
I should report the matter if I knew 
To whom such matters are reported ! Come ! 
[Leading the Wife away to the right.'] 

The Wife. 

[Bowing politely to the Glove Young Man.] 
Most civil! 

Glove Young Man. 

[Groans. Unseen Pictures cry, "Hush!" He then 
shouts.] Help ! Help ! Police ! [Again the Pictures 
silence him. From the left the German Lady returns, 
and from the right the Youngest Pupil.] 

Youngest Pupil. 

I want to see 
Tf he's come back! 

[The German Lady begins, " Ach W under — " but 
breaks off, rubbing her eyes.] 

Youngest Pupil. 

Oh, it's someone else! 

Teacher. 
You're dreaming ! It's the same ! 

Class. 

Of course it is ! 



60 PICTURE PLAYS 

Youngest Pupil. 
He's changed his clothes, then! 

Glove Young Man. 

Dear young lady, I 
Am Charley Black. This is my business card. 
If you would be so kind. . . . 

Youngest Pupil. 

Oh! He's alive! 

Teacher. 
He can't be! 

Youngest Pupil. 
But he is! Aren't you alive? 

Glove Young Man. 
I am, indeed; the livest ever. Though 
That's not exactly news to me ! 

Youngest Pupil. 

He is! 
He says he is himself ! 

Teacher. 
[Leading the Youngest Pupil away, right.] 

He can't be ! If 
He were 'twould say so here in Baedeker! 

Class. 
Of course ! 



A SALON CARRfi FANTASY 61 

Glove Young Man. 

This grows monotonous! [Notices German Lady still 

gazing at him, puzzled.'] Although 

Not introduced, if you would be so kind — 

German Lady. 

[Shrieks, running away to the left.] 
Ach, du lieber. . . . 

Glove Young Man. 
[Wearily. 1 Gesundheit ! 

German Lady. 

[Returning, says with conviction.] WTTNDER- 
~ SCHON! [Goes.] 

Glove Young Man. 
[After a slight pause.] 

I never was more highly entertained! 
Yet one may have too much of a good thing. 
Then, too, there's business to attend to. So 
If this distinguished company would drop 
A hint how long the game will last — 

[It grows dark. From loth sides pictures in their 
frames steal forth, only their backs being presented 
to the audience. They stand in a semicircle oppo- 
site the Young Man. He bows jauntily.] 
Why, how-de-do ! . . . I trust you like my looks ! 
[It grows constantly darker. Mutterings of thunder 



62 PICTURE PLAYS 

are heard from time to time, mingled with the clash 

of swords.'] 
Will someone kindly press the button, call 
A waiter? . . . Or if any gentleman 
Will lend his hat and half a dozen eggs, 
I'll make an omelette! . . . No? . . . Look 

here, 
Fair play ! How long am I in for : for life ? 

[Pictures bow assent.] 
No commutation for exemplary 
Behavior, eh? [Pictures shake themselves as if saying 

no.'] ... I move that you adjourn ! 
[Pictures signify no.] 
Oh, very well! 

[He whistles. The sword-clash grows louder.] 
I see ! Life's short but art is long ! Is that 
Your motto? [Pictures signify assent.] You intend 

to kill me? 
[Pictures assent.] So! 

The ayes would seem to have it ! Go ahead ! 
Once in a lifetime only can one die! 
And as an angel I would sooner be 
The real article than just a sham, 
Old, tarnished, cracked, and canvas-back, like — 

[There is a terrible clash, while the pictures seem to 

close about the Young Man. Suddenly the Woman 

at her Toilet runs in from the right, shrieking.] 

Woman at her Toilet. 
Spare him! Spare him to me! 



A SALON CARRfi FANTASY 63 

Glove Young Man. 

Good gracious ! Who 
Is this enthusiastic but somewhat 
Imperfectly attired young female! Miss, 
Your name escapes me, but . . . my business card ! 

Woman at her Toilet. 

As hostage let him live, to me enchained ! 
Price of the masterwork a mortal's love 
This day destroyed ! I ask it in the name 
Of Titian and of Art! 

Unseen Pictures. 
So be it ! 

Others. 

Amen! 
[The Pictures in evidence retreat.'] 

Woman at her Toilet. 
Come ! [Glove Young Man descends from frame."] 

Glove Young Man. 
Kindest thanks for timely help! But — who — ? 

Woman at her Toilet. 
Come forth into the world with me ! 

Glove Young Man. 

Aren't you 
Afraid of taking cold? 



64 PICTURE PLAYS 

Woman at hek Toilet. 

Not while the sun is shining, and with you! 

Glove Young Man. 

Sunshine is so uncertain. If you had 

A rag of fringe, a lambrequin, a sash, 

To patch you up a bit ! And then your hair — 

Woman at hee Toilet. 
Am I not beautiful the way I am? 

Glove Young Man. 
Too beautiful by half! 

Woman at heb Toilet. 

One cannot have 
Too much of beauty! So all artists say! 

Glove Young Man. 

But my dear Miss ... or Madam, is it? I 
Am not an artist! Such a thing — tap wood! 
Has never happened in our family! 

Woman at her Toilet. 

Your time has come ! Not artist ; work of art, 
Like to myself, 111 render you! Take off 
Those hideous clothes! 

Glove Young Man. 
My goodness gracious me ! 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 65 

Unseen Pictures. 



Do as she bids ! 



Glove Young Man. 



How many and how much 
Will satisfy the Louvre proprieties? 

[Reluctantly preparing to remove his coat. Laura, 
who has wakened gradually, now sits up with a 
gasp.'] 

Laura. 
Why, Charley Black ! What would your mother say ! 

Glove Young Man. 

If only it were mother! ... Do you mind 
Turning your back? 

Laura. 
How dare you ! 

Glove Young Man. 

Oh, I dare 
Do all that may become a work of art! 
Who dares do more is none ! 

Woman at her Toilet. 

Oh, bravely said, 
And worthy of our School! [Cries of "Hear, hear I" 
from Unsben Pictures.] 



66 PICTURE PLAYS 



Laura. 



[Noticing the Woman for the first time, advances on 
her.'] 

You scandalous 
Young Masterpiece — or, rather, Mistresspiece ! 
Go right back to the frame where you belong ! 

Woman at her Toilet. 

Never ! Take you my place ! With him I go, 
When he is decently undressed! 

Glove Young Man. 
[Ruefully.'] Ill wreathe myself in smiles! 

Laura. 

You will, will you ! Oh, Charley Black ! 
What shall I do! [Bursting into tears.] 

Young Man with a Glove. 

[Suddenly appears at her side.] 

Absorbed in yon dusk shades, 
Emerge . . . and not alone! in sunlit groves 
In Italy! 

Laura. 

[Shrieks.'] How dare you! G-et right back 

Into your frame ! Charley, put on your ooat 
And come with me ! 

Unseen Pictures. 
Do as he bids ! 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 67 

Lauea. 

I won't! 

Young Man with a Glove. 

Fear not! 
Although a chromo, as compared to us, 
Ill-dressed, pretentious, modern at its worst, 
Your hair is not unTitianesque, your lines 
Susceptible of change ! 

Laura. 

You horrid thing ! 
Charley, why don't you knock him down? 

Woman at her Toilet. 

We waste the daylight! Come! [Trying to lead the 
Glove Young Man to the right.] 

Unseen Pictures. 

Do as she bids! 

Glove Young Man. 

[Ruefully, to Laura.] 
Sorry, my dear! This lady seems to have 
A lien upon me ! — At your service, ma'am ! 
We'll take a taxi to the nearest shop, 
Outfitted with a raincoat, rubber shoes, 
Hairpins and usual et ceteras 
You won't feel quite so, well, conspicuous 
In Paris ! 



68 PICTURE PLAYS 

Woman at her Toilet. 

Wonted to the gaze am I 
Of the admiring throng! As breath of life 
To me their plaudits are ! welcome chance 
On exhibition so to place myself ! 
Then, come! 

Young Man with a Glove. 

And yon, into the background thrust 
A hundred years or so haply may learn 
Humbly, upon your knees, the rudiments 
Of all you glibly chatter now about! 

Unseen Pictures. 

[With a menacing clash.'] 
Do as they bid! 

Laura. 

I won't! Fd sooner die! 
Charley, forgive me ! It is you I love, 
While as for you — You cinquecento dude — 

[There is a terrible sword clash, followed by lightning 
and violent thunder. When the darkness clears the 
Young Man with a Glove is seen in his original 
attitude within his frame, while the Woman at 
her Toilet has disappeared. Laura is composedly 
gathering up her painting materials, the Glove 
Young Man, fully equipped, assisting her.] 

Glove Young Man. 
Storm's over. [Picking up the easel.] 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 69 

Laura. 

[Looking at her study of the picture.] 
'Tisn't really good! 

Glove Young Man. 

[Admiring it.~\ Oh, yes, 

It is, though ! 

Laura. 

[Comparing it with the original.] 

No. I know enough to know 
What I don't know! Still, I will keep it as 
A souvenir. [Dreamily.] 

Glove Young Man. 
Of what? 

Laura. 

[As if waking, laughs.] I do not know. 

Charley, he looks a little bit like you ! 

Glove Young Man. 

Well, I can stand it, if he can ! This way ! 
[Leading Laura to the right.] 
I saw a picture of a red-haired girl. . . . 
Like you ! 

[They laugh, and kiss.] 

Gardien. 

[Passing through.] 
On ferme ! 



70 PICTURE PLAYS 

Glove Young Man. 

Where would you like to spend 
The honeymoon: in Italy? 

Laura. 

N-no! 
That's too exciting. Just some quiet place! 

Glove Young Man. 
Why not Niagara? 

Lauba. 
[Agreeing."] Niagara ! 

Gasmen. 

[Again passing through.'] On ferme! On ferme! 
[The lovers kiss again and pass out on the right.] 

Gaedien. 
[Again passing through.] On ferme! 

Woman at her Toilet. 

[Advances stealthily a few steps from the right.] 
Signore . . . Our ruse succeeded! 

Young Man with a Glove. 

So it seems, 
Madonna ! 



A SALON CARRE FANTASY 71 

Woman at her Toilet. 
Fare you well, then! 

Young Man with a Glove. 

Fare you well ! 
[The Woman at her Toilet disappears on the right. 
The Young Man with a Glove becomes a picture 
again. The light fades. The Gardien, again 
passing through, cries, " On ferme ! " on which the 
curtains are drawn.'] 



HIS MOTHER'S FACE 



Picture, Une Fete Champtere, Jean Antoine Watteau 

(1684-1721). 



HIS MOTHER'S FACE 

Characters : Jean Antoine Watte au in his last hour, 
a Sister, and a Boy. 

The stage is divided from right to left by a screen which, 
when only the forefront is illuminated, represents the 
wall of a room. When light is thrown on the back 
scene it serves as a misty veil that lends an effect of 
illusion to the pictures there presented. These pic- 
tures, groupings from the well-known canvases of 
Watteau, are supposed to be conjured up in the fancy 
of the dying artist, the spectator sharing his super- 
normal vision. The Sister and the Boy, however, 
who are ministering to him, betray no consciousness 
whatever that the room has ceased to be bounded by a 
wall. 

The curtains, parting, disclose a simply furnished 
room. At one side, toward the front, on a couch lies 
Watteau, the Sister and the Boy in attendance on 
him. 

Watteau. 

[Rousing himself.] 
Sister, brush and palette bring me. 
Play, Jeannot, on your guitar. 
While I paint, some ballad sing me. 
Faring on a journey far, 
Sieur Watteau, Academician, 

75 



76 PICTURE PLAYS 

For one sitter's portrait calls 
On remembrance, art-magician, 
Ere the final darkness falls. 

[The Sistee having complied with his request, he 

makes an effort to work.'] 

The Boy. 
[Sings to his guitar.] 
Days of Liesse! Days of Liesse! 
Season of wreathed lovers, song, and spring! 
Come, warm me with your old-time tenderness, 
Before my soul takes wing! 

[The wall at the hack of the room seems to dissolve, 
and, as if in a dream, appear phantasmugorial 
groups of Watteau Cavaliers and Ladies, in 
a garden presided over by a statue of Venus. Ex- 
claiming, the artist moves, as if to advance toward 
the vision, then sinking lack, waves it away.] 

Watteau. 
Gallants, dames, of courtly fashion, 
Butterflies of ballet corps, 
Airy forms of painted passion, 
Pass ! Binds me your spell no more ! 
[The vision fades.] 

The Boy. 

[Sings to his guitar.] 
Enchanted Isle! Enchanted Isle! 
Who has not known your lure when youth is fair? 
But, of all "barques that seek ye this long while, 
^Yhat one has anchored there! 



HIS MOTHER'S FACE 77 

Watteau. 
For Cythera not embarking — 
Ah, how oft I've made the start ! — 
Back to Valenciennes I'm harking, 
Home that holds my Flemish heart! 

In a simple tiler's cottage 
Fronting on the market-square, 
Spinning, mending, making pottage, 
Praying, bides my mother there! 

[He paints a little. The Sister moves softly about 
the room, ministering to his comfort, while the Boy 
plays a few measures. Then, with a reminiscent 
smile, Watteau pauses in his work and speaks 
again.] 

Oh, those merry Saturnalia, 
In the reign of St. Pansard, 
Clad in Carnival regalia, 
Then at Easter, dying hard ! 

And, neath Abbey walls monastic, 
Gilles, Cassandra, gay Margot, 
Mezzetin of trick fantastic — 
These are the old friends I know ! 

The Boy. 

[Sings to his guitar.] 
Oh, Valenciennes! Oh, Valenciennes! 
Homing, my heart seeks yours at set of sun 
To join the buoyant women, stalwart men, 
Who dance, their day's work done! 



78 PICTURE PLAYS 

[Again the wall dissolves, and a vision appears, this 
time of Flemish peasants dancing, as in the picture 
La Yraie Gaiete. Then follow Gilles, and his com- 
panions of the Strolling Italian Comedians; Cas- 
sandra, Margot, Mezzetin, Pantaloon. Extending 
his arms toward these, the artist exclaims with joy. 
When the vision fades he sinks hade on his couch 
with a sigh of satisfaction. The Sister, who has 
been sitting quietly watching him, rises.'] 

Watteau. 

[Looks from the Sister to a crucifix an the side-wall, then 

to her again."] 

Symbol of the Crucifixion, 

Sister, now I fain would kiss ! 

[The Sister brings him the crucifix, but in the act 
of taking it, the artist pauses, his eye arrested by 
the crudity of its workmanship, and he pushes it 
away with a gesture of repulsion.] 

Ah, there lies no benediction 

In such travesty as this ! 

[With a gentle smile, as of one humoring a child, the 
Sister replaces the sacred symbol. The Boy, mean- 
time, plays a few soft, desultory measures. Picking 
up his brush, with it the artist outlines a cross in 
the air, then again essays to paint. After a futile 
stroke or so, however, his nerveless hand drops to 
his side. Then, gathering his faculties for a su- 
preme effort, he speaks, slowly, but distinctly.] 



HIS MOTHER'S FACE 79 

Sieur Watteau, at thirty-seven, 

Decorate by royal grace, 

Leaves his master-work to Heaven, 

Just — my dear — old — mother's — face ! 

[The brush drops from his hand as his head s-inks 
forward, then back on the pillow. The watching 
Sister makes the sign of the cross.] 

The Boy. 

[Sings to his guitar.'] 

In Valenciennes, in Valenciennes 
Players no more frequent the market-place, 
And I to Heaven now must turn, as then 
To see my mother's face! 

[Slowly, noiselessly, the curtains are drawn.] 



A GAINSBOROUGH LADY 



A Christmas Masque. 

Picture, Study for a Portrait (The Duchess of Devon- 
shire), by Thomas Gainsborough (1727-1788). 

These verses are reprinted by permission of Charles Scribner's 
Sons from Scribner's Magazine for January, 1902. 



74, 



4¥ /€& 




A GAINSBOROUGH LADY 

Characters: A Gainsborough Lady in a picture. 
Also a Gainsborough Gentleman, supposed to be the 
subject of the portrait which is the Lady's next-door 
neighbor on the wall of a gallery. As the Gentle- 
man remains invisible and enforcedly silent through- 
out the scene his proximate presence is inferred solely 
by the Lady's addressing her discourse to him.'] 

The Lady, suitably framed, is revealed, but in deep 
shadow. Soon a clock in the distance musically 
strikes the hour of twelve, upon which a pallid moon- 
beam, gradually becoming bright, falls on the picture. 
When this is fully illuminated the Lady slowly comes 
to life. 

The Lady. 

'Twas prophesied 
Some Christmas dawning, 
'Twixt midnight and morning, 
Would speech to us restore! 

[She peers from her frame about the gallery.] 
My husband-lover, do you live 
Below ? 

Or upward soar ? 
If he were near I'd know ; he was so talkative.! 

[Sagaciously wagging her head.] 

83 



84 PICTURE PLAYS 

Withal, the sweetest soul that ever sinned and died! 

" Gad's life " [reminiscently she strikes the attitude of 
a connoisseur'], "now stab my vitals if they ain't 

A credit to the artist's paint ! " 

('Twas Colley Gibber spoke !) " So time will show ! " 

The day we sat for Gainsborough, some hundred years 
ago! 
[Looking farther from her frame first to one side, 
then the other, on her right she evidently recog- 
nizes her neighbor, for she utters an exclamation 
of delight, while a tender smile lights her face.'] 

Then it is you ! 

How I have wondered — ! 

After being sundered 

A century — or more! 

[Evidently the Gentleman" would have liked to set 
her right, for she cuts him off sharply.] 

Oh, yes! insist on those odd years! 

Altho' 

Touching that score, 

Your own accounts, my dear, were always in arrears ! 

'Twas monstrous shocking how your debts were overdue ! 
[The Gentleman would seem to ivish to deny this.] 

But, if you'll let me speak for once, 'tis quaint 

To spring to life from canvas, paint, 

And be just boy and girl, just belle and beau, 

As when we sat for Gainsborough, some hundred years 
ago! 

Sometimes, indeed, 
In sunbeam's glinting, 



A GAINSBOROUGH LADY 85 

I have said, " He's squinting, 
" That gentleman next door ! 
" Pleased with my eyes, perchance, my shape, 
" Some beau, 
" Perhaps some bore ! 

" Who would a picture-gallery acquaintance scrape ! " 
[The Gentleman" probably would like to protest 

"'Port my life!" but she checks him.'] 
Now, now, you know you cannot innocency plead ! 
You know as well as I you were no saint ! 
A, man of flesh and blood, not paint ! 

[The Gentleman's eyes must be rolling, for the 

Lady waves him back, as it were, to herself, while 

virtuously drawing her 'kerchief closer about her.] 
Yon frescoed nymphs were never taught to sew 
As we who sat for Gainsborough, some hundred years 

ago! 

It seems, then, dear, 

Long ages flitting, 

Here we've hung unwitting! 

(I trying to ignore 

The flirt presumer by my side!) 

When, lo ! 

One moonbeam frore 

Quickens our portraits into life, bridegroom and 

bride ! — 
'Twas God who joined us living, dead, the auctioneer ! 
But hearts beat on as hearts, behind attaint 
Of coating varnish, garish paint ! 
Love can a fairer immortality bestow 



86 PICTURE PLAYS 

Than that we sat for Gainsborough, some hundred years 
ago! 

What matters age ! 

Since fortune chancy 

Yields this hour, in fancy 

We'll live the sweet life o'er — 

Though each be but poor pictured ghost 

A-row ! — 

When you shed gore 

To win the season's belle, the town and tavern toast! 

(My dear, I'm modish still ! This hat is all the rage !) 

You fought! 

[Her change of tone indicates that the Gentleman 
would disclaim this.] 

You did! That duel was no feint! 
'Twas crimson blood, not crimson paint, 
You rogue ! and crimson wine you caused to flow, 
All in the days of Gainsborough, some hundred years 
ago! 

Do you recall 
That sweet pursuing, 
Fleeing game of wooing? — 
The night this frock I wore? — 

[She listens. Faint strains of phantasmal music are 
heard.] 
It echoes in remembrance yet. . . . 
High, low! 
We hold the floor! [She makes a deep curtsey toward 



A GAINSBOROUGH LADY 87 

the Gentleman, then takes steps to the music.'] 
The violins play Boccherini's minuet, 
And you. are sparking me at Lady Betty's ball ! 
These hands poured wine, prepared confectioned daint 
(Your heart and stomach were not paint!) 
Next time you called . . . these lips did not say 

No! . . . 
All in the days of Gainsborough, some hundred years 

ago! 

I won't deny 

That you were trying ! 

[Obviously the Gentleman would protest.'] 

Ah, His useless lying ! 

I have known you to snore 

After your dinner, and in church ! 

'Tis so ! 

But to the core 

Fine ! Never leaving foe or comrade in the lurch ! 

An English gentleman of a good school gone by ! 

I love you aye, sweetheart, despite restraint 

Of framing canvas, fading paint! 

And, speak! Don't you . . .? 

[She holds out her hands to the Gentleman, but, as 
just then the distant sounds of dawn make them- 
selves heard, suddenly checks his impending ad- 
vance.] 
Hush, hush ! That shrill cock's crow 

Says, " Peace, who sat for Gainsborough, some hundred 
years ago ! " 
[The concluding words die on the Lady's lips, as, re- 



88 PICTURE PLAYS 

suming her original attitude, she stiffens slowly 
again into a portrait, while the moonlight fades into 
the gray of dawn.~\ 



ARTIST-MOTHER AND CHILD 



Picture, Mme. Vigee Lebrun and her Daughter by Mine. 
Vigee Lebrun (1755-18^). 



ARTIST-MOTHER AND CHILD 

The curtains parting, disclose Mme. Vigee Lebrun and 
her little daughter, behind a suitable frame, in the pic- 
ture-pose. The effect is as if the spectator, through a 
transparent wall, had caught a glimpse of them in 
their living-room, a blank wall of which forms their 
background. Mme. Lebrun is gazing intently toward 
the front, supposedly studying their reflection in a 
looking-glass. Against her contentedly nestles The 
Child. Soon, satisfied with the result of her observa- 
tion, Mme. Lebrun, always behind the frame, reaches 
for painting materials that lie beyond the scene, and 
prepares to work on a small study for the picture she 
is projecting. Suddenly the sound of distant firing is 
heard. She pauses, brush in hand. When the firing 
is followed by a rough shout of triumph, and a snatch 
of the Marseillaise, she drops her brush and clasps 
The Child to her bosom hard. 

The Child. 

What ails my mother, in yon looking-glass 
Our portrait studying she trembles, turns white? 
Why drops her brush whenever people pass, 
Marching, hurrahing through the streets? ... So 

tight 
You clasp, it hurts ! 

91 



92 PICTURE PLAYS 

[Mme. Lebrun caresses the Child soothingly, and, picking 
up her brush, resumes work. Every now and then 
the distant echoes of revolution are heard. Soon the 
Child speaks again.] 

How gay seems Paris! Guns 
Firing! Who is the Saint whose fete with praise 
Is being kept? 

Mme. Lebrun. 

Called by her red-capped sons 
St. Liberty; her hymn the Marseillaise. 
[A slight pause.] 

The Child. 
This portrait, will you give it me to keep, 
If still I stand and am, oh, very good? 

Mme. Lebrun. 

Perhaps some fairy, when you are asleep, 
Will turn it into pretty frocks and food ! 

[The Child laughs and claps her hands delightedly. 

There is another pause during which Mme. Lebrun 

works.] 

The Child. 
King, Queen, why never go we now to see: 
Louis the kind, fair Marie Antoinette ? 

Mme. Lebrun. 
[Trying to speak lightly.] 
No more at Trianon or Tuileries, 
Their new address have they not sent us yet! 



ARTIST-MOTHER AND CHILD 93 

[There is another pause, during which a louder note 
of revolution is heard, and a red flash as of flame 
is seen. Mme. Lebruist listens anxiously, but as it 
dies away, resumes work.'] 

The Child. 
Know you the artist Madame Guillotine? 

Mme. Lebrun. 
Child! [Horrified.-] 

The Child. 
[Proud of imparting news.] 

Aye! Commissioned by France, heard I said, 
Soon will she execute our king and queen, 
But not as did you, full-length, just the head! 

[A snatch of the Marseillaise again is heard. Mme. 
Lebrun gives way to sudden, silent weeping.] 

The Child. 
Mother, dear, see, where on our portrait fell 
Tears! [Distressed.] Mother, let me kiss your tears 
away! 

Mme. Lebrun. 

[Wiping eyes, and forcing cheerfulness.] 
Aye, for I work in oils, not aquarelle ! 

[Prepares to resume work.] 
Come! 



94 PICTURE PLAYS 

The Child. 

First at counting-out suppose we play ! 

[Mme. Lebrun's lips form the word " counting-out " 

as if this held an ominous note, then lending her- 
self to the child's humor, holds her again in the 
picture-pose, while together they croon a little 
nursery rhyme.'] 

MME. Lebrto. 
Marguerite of Paris, lend me your slippers gray ! 

The Child. 
And we will go to Paradise on this sunshiny day. 

Mme. Lebrux. 

Where we shall see the little birds that Jesus made of 
clay! 

The Child. 
Each evening in the chapel old he lights the candles, 



without doubt. 






Bread. 


Mme. Lebeex. 






Pipe. 


The Child. 

Mme. Lebrun. 

Bridge of gold. 

Together. 






The prettiest child goes out! 

[They kiss, then fall into silence, in 
tude.~] 

[The curtains close.] 


the 


pkture-aiti- 



QUEEN AND EMPEROR 



Picture, Portrait of Queen Louisa, by Gustav Richter 

(1823-1884). 



QUEEN AND EMPEROR 

Characters : King Frederick William III and Queen 
Louisa of Prussia; their two sons, the Crown Prince 
Fritz and his younger brother William ; their infant 
daughter Louisa. The Countess Voss, Mistress of 
the Queen's Household. Baron von Hardenburg, 
Generals Scharnhorst and Blucher. Two Maids 
of the Queen's retinue. The infant Princess's Nurse. 
Of these only the principals need appear. The others 
may be inferred from being addressed. Napoleon 
Bonaparte, Emperor of France; Talleyrand-Peri- 
gord, his Minister of Foreign Affairs. 

Scene : A hall in a house at Tilsit. 

Time: July, 1807. 

To render this scene effective great care must be exer- 
cised in the stage management. The Queen through- 
out is the pivotal person, the central figure. At no 
moment is the full group in view; the characters press 
forward as the text requires, those invisible lending 
their assistance by exclamations indicative of the emo- 
tions roused — hatred of Bonaparte, love of the Fa- 
therland, and the like. In minor details historical 
accuracy has obviously been sacrificed to dramatic ef- 
fect. The two princes did not accompany their 
mother to Tilsit, Princess Louisa was not born till 

97 



98 PICTURE PLAYS 

the year following the truce. Nor does Richter's 
painting, the final tableau, represent the Tilsit lodg- 
ing. The main story, however, lies close to fact. In 
the short dialogue between mother and lads the gen- 
eral pictorial effect should follow the painting by Stef- 
feck, Queen Louisa and Her Two Elder Sons on the 
Luisenweg near Koenigsberg. For the scene between 
the Queen and Napoleon a hint may be gathered 
from Gosse's picture. Portraits of Frederick Wil- 
liam III, Countess Voss and others may be found in 
historical works. The final tableau shows Richter's 
painting of Queen Louisa. For this, by a simple 
mechanical contrivance the picture area must be nar- 
rowed, the frame closing in so as to present the soli- 
tary figure on the stairs in the right picture-propor- 
tion. 
[As the curtain rises the Queen's maids laden with 
wraps and hand-baggage are seen, disappearing up 
the stair. The royal party enters from the left, the 
King, bareheaded, escorting the Queen, who is in 
travelling attire.'] 

The King. 

This, dear one, is our lodgment. Poor the best 
The fiend allows us. [He sighs. The others groan.'] 

The Queen. 

[Cheerfully.] It will serve. A comb, 

Water to cleanse this travel-soil, and then — 
Napoleon! [The others sigh heavily.] 



QUEEN AND EMPEROR 99 

The King. 

[With solicitude. ,] 
Louisa, did I well 
To countenance your coming ? Hardenberg, 
The Czar, all think your woman's wit may win 
Some peace for Prussia far beyond the terms 
The monster yields to our diplomacy ! 
But an that devil Corsican you fear 
To meet — ! 

The Queen. 

7 fear! [Laughs.] Daughter of Mecklenburg, 

And Frederick William's wife! [Kisses the King.] 
That I may fail, 

Ah, that alone I fear ! And yet if one, 

One fort, one smallest village, aye, one foot 

Of earth for our beloved Fatherland 

I gain I shall not wholly fail ! 

[The King embraces her, while the others cry " Long 
live her Gracious Majesty Queen Louisa/' The 
Queen, having acknowledged the demonstration, 
continues.'] What mannered brute 

This mushroom Emperor? [Checks the King who is 
about to reply.] Nay ; tell me not. 

I'll meet him unprepared, unprejudiced. 

The King. 

A brute describes it. Just a brute, replete 
With ill-got conquest. Tyrant, petty, mean. 
The Czar, myself, his guests enforced, his slaves, 



100 PICTURE PLAYS 

Almost I said ! — lie heaps with insult, guised 

As compliment! [The others groan.'] Oh, we must 

dine with him! 
Our sweet society he'll not forego ! 
And so, bethink you, I, who love the meal 
At homely noon, now eat at eight at night! 
Xot born to such convention, yet the beast 
Would change the clock, elect himself a god — 
Xapoleon! [Great demonstration from the rest.] 

The Countess Voss. 

{Impressively.] 
He apes the English. More, 
He passes them ! Their heathen dinner hour 
Absorbs the afternoon, I'm told, from four 
To five! [A shocked murmur from all.] 

The Queen. 
[Excited.] 
Hope ! Hope ! Huzzah ! A ray of hope, 
The first ! Who apes, mark you, that thing he fears \ 
And by that thing he fears will some day fall ! 
little upstart, self -elected god, 
Invincible no more proclaim yourself! 
Unwitting your Achilles heel you've bared! 
Oh, I could hug those English ! 

The King. 

[With a caress.] 

Optimist! [Sighs heavily again.] 
Noon or nocturne, his bread sticks i' my throat ! 



QUEEN AND EMPEROR 101 

The pliant Alexander smiles, digests ! 
But I — [Breaks off with emotion.] 'Tis for my Prus- 
sia ! [Cries of " Long live His Gracious Majesty. "1 

The Queen. 

[With a caress."] 

Dearest one! 
The hour of tryst approaches ! Take the boys ! 

[The Princes come forward.] 
'Tis ages since you've seen them. Mark their growth ! 
And you, dear Voto [addressing Countess Voss], look 
to baby ! 
[The Nurse with the Infant advances. The Queen 
shows the King.] See! 

The love ! 

The Countess Voss. 
Her Royal Highness lacks a name ! 

The King. 

Louisa for her peerless mother ! Yet, 
hapless child, our kingdom in the dust, 
What crowned heads will dare to sponsor thee? 

The Queen. 

A fig for kings and queens who hold aloof 
From sorrow! Goethe, Schiller, all 
Blood-princea of the realm of intellect, 
In spirit lay your hands upon her brow ! 
And, present, Bliicher, grim old warrior; 



102 PICTURE PLAYS 

Dear Scharnhorst, who have cleft your upward way 
With consecrated sword to noble heights ; 
Germans of Germany, where'er ye bide, 
Godparent this poor infant; guide her steps 
In ways God-fearing, like your own, to Heav'n! 

[Presenting the child to the group. All press about 
her with great demonstration and cries of " Long 
live Her Royal Highness Princess Louisa /""] 
They go, singing : " All hail, our Gracious King ! 
Long live our noble King, God save the King ! " 

The King. 

You'd hearten stones! [Kisses her hands.'] Until we 
meet again ! 

Prince William. 

[Clinging to the Queen's right arm.] 
I'll go pick you some cornflowers. And yet 
'Tis said that blossoms blue mean hope deferred, 
Desires beyond fulfilment ! 

The Queen. 

Thus they bring 
Sky to our earth ! 

The Crown Prince. 

[On the Queen's left.] 

Stoop, Mother. Whisper low. 
You're fighting for the throne . . . my throne to 
be! 



QUEEN AND EMPEROR 103 

Yet . . . whisper ! I don't want to be a king ! 
Poor father, see how sad it makes him ! Then 
Last Christmas did not Santa Claus pass by 
Our wretched palace? No gift-laden tree 
He brought, for, sooth, we're children of a king! 

The Queen. 

{Tenderly. ] 
My Fritz, our burdens 'tis not ours to choose ! 
Come, lift your head ! That's my brave lad ! Now say 
The little catechism that we made 
Together ! 



Of Prussia. 



The Crown Prince. 

Crown Prince am I 

Prince William. 



[Takes his brother's hand.] 
I am your next brother ! 

Both Princes. 

And in our veins flows blood of Frederick 
The Great. And we do dedicate our lives 
To our lov'd Fatherland to set it free ! 

[Each then takes a hand of the Queen and kisses it. 
They join their father. Prince William suddenly 
runs lack to his mother. Napoleon, attended by 
Talleyrand, enters on the left. They pause, un- 
seen by the Germans, listening.] 



104 PICTURE PLAYS 

Prince William. 

Is't true the devil Bonaparte has horns, 
Cleft hoof, and tail ? 

The Queen. 

[Between laughter and tears.~\ 

Indeed I would 'twere true, 
For that would make me laugh instead of — 

[ Turns, runs upstairs with a slightly hysterical laugh. 
The hoys go off with their father. Napoleon and 
Talleyrand advance, laughing.'] 

Talleyrand. 
A flattered portrait, Sire, they paint of you! 

Napoleon. 

[Shrugs shoulders."] 
Our guest, dear Frederick William the Third 
Of Prussia has been writing letters home! 
[Takes snuff.] 

Talleyrand. 
The lady's tardy ! 

Napoleon. 

Early rather I. 
My whim to catch her off her guard ! Poor soul, 
We'll grant her grace to don her bauble crown ! 



QUEEN AND EMPEROR 105 

Talleyrand. 
Interpreted, which favor means the terms 
Of Tilsit's Truce the Tilsit Peace will stand, 
Unmodified by fair Louisa's plea? 

Napoleon. 

Now, Talleyrand, much as I love the sex, 
Whene'er did woman's wiles deflect my star? 

Talleyrand. 

[Shrugs shoulders.] 
Or soon or late the greatest conqueror — 
'Tis writ on high ! his Armageddon meets. 
To witness, Cassar! 

Napoleon. 
[In sudden panic] 

Talleyrand ! You mean 
Some ambuscade, some Brutus' dagger waits 
My breast? 

Talleyrand. 

[With malign joy.] 
Oh, Sire ! The name upon my lips 
Was Cleopatra's! 

Napoleon. 
[Recovers poise.] 

Pish! Scoffer, begone! 
For, hark! Yon nervous clearing of the throat, 






106 PICTURE PLAYS 

A dainty frou-frou, and light-tripping step 
Announce my suppliant! 

[Urges Talleyrand off at the left.] 

Talleyrand. 

Surely you need 
Protection, Sire? 

Napoleon. 

From Cleopatra? Nay; 

Fm Caesar, not Mark Antony ! 

[Talleyrand bows and goes. The Queen, attired as 
in Richter's picture, but crowned, as in Gosse's, de- 
scends. Napoleon meets her halfway, takes her 
hand, conducts her down a stair.] 

The Queen. 

[Curtseying.] 
Your Imperial Highness! 

Napoleon. 

[Bowing over her hand.] 
Your Majesty ! [Releases her.] Welcome to Tilsit ! 

The Queen. 

I thank you, Sire. But Tilsit's Prussian soil! 
So Tilsit cries its own welcome to me ! 

Napoleon. 

[Aside.] 
Impertinent ! 



QUEEN AND EMPEROR 107 



The Queen. 

But you, Sire, find yourself 



In Tilsit welcome? 



Napoleon. 

[Bows with mock courtesy.'] 

Thanks. On Prussian soil 
Myself, my legions, count ourselves at home! 

The Queen. 

[Sighs.] 
Not mine with you to bandy words. I come 
To — [Looking up for the first time breaks off with a 
start] 

Napoleon. 

[Maliciously.] 
Aha ! Confess you miss horns, hoof and tail ! 

The Queen. 

[With sincerity.] 
I own, your portraits wrong you, only show — 
[Breaks off.] 

Napoleon. 
Speak freely! 

The Queen. 

So, or not at all. They show 
An — well, adventurer! 



108 PICTURE PLAYS 

Napoleon. 
And so I am! 

The Queen. 

Yet who to arrogance of conquest brings 
The brow of Caesar's innate majesty! 

Napoleon. 

[Aside.'] 
The Siren, would she Cleopatra me ? 
Best be on guard ! Permit like compliment. 
A queen? A goddess rather. Child of Zeus, 
Athene. Aphrodite's self ! 

The Queen. 

Pray, Sire, 
Spare mockery. In print for all to read 
Have you set forth disparagement of me : 
"Cheap intrigante/' and " would-be Joan-of-Arc," 
" A petticoated politician who 

" The State embroils, sheds blood for pastime ! " Worst, 
My wifely fame have you not scorned to slur ! 

Napoleon. 
Madame, upon my honor. I protest — 

The Queen. 

We'll put that by. Not for myself, I plead 
For Prussia. 



QUEEN AND EMPEROR 109 

Napoleon. 
Well, with Prussia what's amiss? 

The Queen. 
A fatal malady. Surfeit of France! 

Napoleon. 

A general infection, so it seems, 
Through Europe. To return to petticoats, 
What fabric this? [Touching a fold of the Queen's 
dress.'] 

The Queen. 

[Bitterly.'] Chiffons? At such time, Sire, 

Shall we discuss chiffons! 

Napoleon. 

'Twould interest 
The Empress. 

The Queen. 

Josephine — her heart, 'tis said, 
Is kind. Her husband she adores, as I 
Mine. 0, to my entreaties might she add 
Her gentle voice ! 

Napoleon. 

[Aside, bitterly.] Children this woman bears, 

Sons, lusty, beautiful ! In fine, Madame, 
What will you? 



110 PICTURE PLAYS 

The Queen. 

Germany for Germans; that, 
No more, no less ! 

Napoleon. 
[Sneering.'] Too modest the request! 

The Queen. 
We ask but for our own ! 

Napoleon. 

What, with my troops 
In Berlin, Danzig, Magdeburg? 

The Queen. 

What's that 
But hostile occupancy, while the toll 
You claim as war's indemnity, sad price 
Of brave young blood that had been better spent, 
Is highway robbery? 

Napoleon. 

By any name 
Shall I exact it. 

The Queen. 

[Advancing a step.] Ah, Napoleon! 

You love your kin. A thousand proofs declare 
How close the tie. So dear, dearer, to me 
My children! 



QUEEN AND EMPEROR 111 

Napoleon. 

[Aside.'] Sons, princes of royal blood 

Bears she her mate ! — So close, indeed, kin's tie 
That brothers, sisters, and in-laws I crown 
Sov'reigns ! 

The Queen. 

[With sarcastic laughter.] 

Kings, queens, made overnight, 
Turned out by wholesale from a factory, 
And dealt out broadcast, like a pack of cards, 
Over the map! Like poets, kings are born, 
Not made. It takes an ancestor or so, 
Some generations, to produce a lawn, 
A monarch, and a gentleman ! 

Napoleon. 

[Bows.] Some hold 

That genius is sufficing ancestry ! 
You think, Madame, the skies will fall unless 
On Prussia's throne a Hohenzollern sits ? 

The Queen. 

[Bows assent] 

While Hohenzollern draws the breath of life, 
Born, bred to lofty service, in the name 
Of country, home and God, with heart that beats 
Within a mighty people's heart ! Napoleon, 
Leave not the Fatherland a cripple, maimed, 



112 PICTURE PLAYS 

Broken of spirit. Take your victor's slice, 
But one small portion, independent, free, 
Leave to our ancient right and privilege! 

Napoleon. 
A healthy, growing little enemy 
Outside my gates? 

The Queen. 
Not so. Your neighbor, friend! 

Napoleon. 
My friends I buy — and sell my neighbors ! 



The Queen. 



God help you! 



Then 



Napoleon. 

As He does. God always fights 
Upon the side with big battalions ! 

The Queen. 

God help you in the day when Germany 
Returns your call in France ! 

Napoleon. 

Not mine that day! 

The Queen. 
Not yours ; a Hohenzollern's. We shall live, 
Despite Napoleon! 



QUEEN AND EMPEROR 113. 

The Princes. 
[Without."] Mother! Where's our mother! 

Napoleon. 

Sons! . . . 
Your Majesty, deign to accept. . . . 
[Plucks a rose and offers it to the Queen.] 



The Queen. 



Dear God! 



I ask a kingdom and he offers me . . . 

Napoleon. 
A rose, no less, no more ! 

The Queen. 

Alas ! We fail. 
'Tis Heaven's will we fail ! My comfort this ; 
The worse our failure, speedier our day 
Of vindication. Triumphs bought with blood, 
Empires founded on hate, by hatred fall. 
ITndompted England has a word to say. 
And, lo ! the first weak point your armor shows, 
Your admirable poise the least disturbed, 
Without a neighbor, friend, God pity you! 
We Germans fail to-day, our treasure drained, 
Our lands partitioned, e'en ourselves enslaved. 
And yet to the last gasp our hearts beat high 
For Germany, our souls belong to God ! 

[She makes a low obeisance and retires upstairs.] 



114 PICTURE PLAYS 



Napoleon. 



A plague upon the woman with her sons! 

[Throwing down the rose and trampling on it.~\ 

Talleyrand. 

[Entering from the left.'] 
You called me, Sire? 

Napoleon. 
[Sardonically.] You eavesdropper! 

Talleyrand. 

Ah, say, 
You diplomat! [Both laugh.] And how found you 
the Queen? 

Napoleon. 

A handsome woman with a fluent tongue. 

Ye gods, how she ran on ! [Affects to yawn.] 

Talleyrand. 

[Aside.] How he is moved, 

All white and trembling ! And the Tilsit Peace ? 

Napoleon. 
Remains as drafted. 



Talleyrand. 

Not one single point 



Conceded to the lady ? 



QUEEN AND EMPEROR 115 

Napoleon. 



Did I know 



Terms harsher than we've made — ! 



Talleyrand. 
[Picking up the rose.'] Your Majesty 

Has dropped this peace-token ? 

Napoleon. 

[Snatching the rose, throws it hack into the face of the 

Minister.'] 
You devil, you! [He strides off to the left. Talley- 
rand laughs silently. The lights are lowered.] 

Talleyrand. 

[Looks toward an unseen window.] 
A storm? A passing cloud! 

The Princes. 
[Outside, call.] Oh, Mother, dear ! 

Talleyrand. 
[Musingly.] 
To-day, Napoleon's ! But in the end . . . 

The King. 
[Outside, calling.] Louisa! 

The Princes. 
Mother ! 
[Talleyrand takes a pinch of snuff and follows Na- 
poleon.] 



116 PICTURE PLAYS 

The Queen. 

[Answering, calls.'] 
Coming, dears! [The lights, now bright, show her, in 
a narrowed frame, descending the stair, as in Bich- 
ter's picture. She pauses, reflecting.'] 

The Queen. 

[To herself.] Failure! 

As advocate for Germany, IVe failed! 
And yet — 

The King. 

[Heard, nearer.] Louisa! 

The Princes. 
[Nearer.] Mother ! 

The Queen. 

Coming, dears! 
[The curtains close on her, as she pauses, holding a 
thought of hope, in spite of present failure, for the 
future of Germany.] 



A MILLET GROUP 



Picture, The Angelus (V Angelus du Soir), by Jean 
Francois Millet (1814-1875). 



A MILLET GROUP 

Characters (Taken from Millet's paintings). 

The Man with the Hoe VHomme a la Houe 

A Mother and Child La Sortie 

Two Washerwomen Les Lavandieres 

A Youth Le Semeur 

A Husband and Wife UAngelus du Soir 

The Voice of Millet heard in a snatch of song. 
The frame must be proportioned, the scene prepared, for 
the final tableau, The Angelus. At one moment or 
another each picture is presented, the characters not 
belonging to it dropping naturally to right and left, 
as if passing and repassing in a field. The dialogue 
is accompanied by a simple, natural action except 
when a picture-attitude is being held, when a natural 
pause must be achieved. Before the curtains are 
drawn a horn is heard in the distance, and the 
tinkling of cowbells. Then silence. The curtains 
drawn disclose the field of L } Angelus du Soir, but with 
the solitary figure of The Man with the Hoe, 
L'Homme a la Houe, occupying the stage. He re- 
mains immobile for an appreciable time, till the pic- 
ture shall have been recognized and the spirit of the 
scene imposed. Then the Mother carrying her child, 
La Sortie, appears at the right. The Mother stands, 
watching the Man, for a short space, then speaks. 

119 



120 PICTURE PLAYS 

The Motheb. 
A sou for your thoughts ! 

The Man". 

[Turns as if wakened from sleep.] 
Eh? My thoughts? [Laughs.'] That's a joke! 
Now and then when my back is a-weary I pause, 
Draw a breath, wipe the sweat off! [Suits the action 

to the word.] But, thoughts . . .! 

Are you troubled with such? 

The Woman. 
[Advancing.] I don't know! As a girl 
I read fairy-tales; dreamed as I dusted and span 
Or helped in the field ! 

[Laughter is heard. From the left come the two 
Washerwomen with their baskets. They halt, see- 
ing the others.] 

The Older Washerwoman. 
On my word ! One would think 'twas a funeral, feast, 
That you're stopping to chatter! 

The Man. 

[Indicating the Mother with a jerk of his head.] 
She's telling her dreams ! 

The Younger Washerwoman. 

[With curiosity.] Has she dreams? 
[From the right comes the Youth, whistling. He 
also pauses.] 



A MILLET GROUP 121 

The Mother. 

[Apologetically, disclaiming the notion of indulging in 
dreams.'] Oh, not nowadays ! Now I'm too old ! 
Fm turned twenty ! But, oh ! as a girl how I looked 
For a prince to come wooing, and clothe me in silk ; 
Jewels fine as the crown on our Lady! A coach, 
Horses white as your linen, to carry me off 
To a castle with servants to wait on me ! . . . Well, 
I must go get my good man his supper. All day 
He's been carting manure ! [Moves as if to go J] 

The Younger Washerwoman. 
Ha, ha, ha! And those dreams? 

The Mother. 

I pass on 
To my baby ! [She talks to the infant. From the left 
enter the Husband and Wife, with pitchfork and 
wheelbarrow, gathering potatoes.'] 

The Wife. 
Well, well! How she grows! Healthy, too! 

The Mother. 
Aye. I'm hoping to keep her. The others — 

The Wife. 

[Sympathetically.] I know. 

So with mine. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away ! 



122 PICTURE PLAYS 

The Younger Washerwoman. 

[Folding linen.'] 
He takes more in proportion than gives! 

The Others. 
[Shocked, exclaim.] Oh, Lonise! 

The Younger Washerwoman. 

Bnt it's true, as we country-folk know. He takes youth, 
Health, and beauty, and hope. And he gives in re- 
turn . . .? 
Why, not even a grave ! 

The Man. 
Aye; there's something in that! 

The Younger Washerwoman. 

[Bitterly, working herself up.] 
To the earth are we born, and the earth all our days 
Must we till for a meagre subsistence, backs bent, 
And our faces, like beasts', to the earth ! Look at you. 

[To the Man.] 
Like some crooked old tree ! Do you think like a man ? 
Bo you feel like a man among men? Why, this hoe 
Is as human as you, you old stick-i'-the-mud ! 

The Woman. 
Oh, Louise! 

The Man. 
[Nettled.] I don't know about that! 



A MILLET GROUP 123 

The Younger Washerwoman. 

Well, I do! 
[She goes over to the Mother.] 
As for you with your prince of a dung-heap. . . . 

The Mother. 
Hold your tongue! Jealous cat, you! 

The Younger Washerwoman. 
Me jealous ! Of you ! [Laughing scornfully, ,] 

The Husband. 
[Interposing, pacifically.'] 
Come, now, lasses ! Don't quarrel ! 

The Younger Washerwoman. 

[Snapping her fingers at him.] 
Potato-face ! 

The Others. 
[Some shocked, the rest amused.] Oh ! 

The Wife. 
[Infuriated.] 
Don't you dare call my man such a name ! 

The Younger Washerwoman. 

[With sudden tenderness, strokes the Wife's cheek.] 

Poor Adele! 
Scarce nineteen, and all furrowed and brown, like the 

earth ! 
But you never rebel! 



124 PICTURE PLAYS 

The Wife. 

[Mollified.'] I rebel? There are times 

When life's hard — 

The Younger Washerwoman. 
Is there ever a time when it's not? 

The Wife. 
But I always have Jean J 

The Husband. 

[Indicating the Wife.] 
Jean has her! 

The Man. 

Aye, that's true! 

The Voice of Millet. 

[Singing, on the right.'] 
Oh, Normandy ! My Normandy ! Again to see my Nor- 
mandy! [All turn enquiringly.] 

The Youth. 

[Shading his eyes, the letter to see.] 
*Tis our neighbor, the artist, Millet. He's been off 
Selling pictures in Paris. He must have come back 
By the Fontainebleau stage ! 

[The snatch of song again is heard, receding.] 

From his song he's had luck 
With his market! 



A MILLET GROUP 125 

The Older Washerwoman. 

It's time. Months behind with his rent ! 

And their bills . . . ! Butcher, baker, unpaid for — 

how long? 
Not a shop in Chailly gives them credit ! 

The Wife. 

Poor souls! 
With nine children to feed! 

The Mother. 

And his wife — she's not strong. 

The Older Washerwoman. 

Bailiffs soon will be put in possession, they say, 
Of the house, unless money's forthcoming! 

The Wife. 

Poor souls! 
With nine children! 

The Older Washerwoman. 

You can't blame the tradesmen! Monsieur 
Is an artist, you see ! 

The Wife. 
He means well, all the same. 

The Husband. 

{Nods assent, while continuing his work.] 
A good fellow ! 



126 PICTURE PLAYS 

The Older Washerwoman. 

He's lazy. I've seen him, myself, 
By the hour, lying back on the heather ! 

The Man. 

Well, well! 

The Mother. 

On the heather? His wife is too patient! If I 
Caught my man . . . ! 

The Youth. 

He has told me — he's watching the sky ! 
[All exclaim, derisively. ,] 

The Man. 

[Rather apologetically for himself as well as for Millet'] 
Well, I do that myself, now and then, just to see 
If 'twill rain. 

The Older Washerwoman. 

He's no farmer, or peasant, like us! 
What's the weather to him! 

The Youth. 

It's the forms of the clouds 
That he studies. He's told me ! the colors that change 
With the day. Oh, it's just like a poem, the way 



A MILLET GROUP 127 

That he tells it! . . . The trees of the forest, he 

says, 
Speak a language their own! And the birds, and the 

wind — ! 

The Older Washerwoman. 
He's a lazybones ! 

The Man. 

Km! Now I doubt if he's right! 
[Taps forehead significantly.'] 

The Husband. 

All the same, a good neighbor, kind heart, at a time 
When there's trouble ! 

The Wife. 
But — nine! And he looks at the sky! 

The Youth. 

But he works! Oh, I don't mean just painting! He 

digs 
In his garden of mornings ! His roses are fine, 
And his cabbages . . . well, you can't beat them J 

The Wipe. 

Poor soul ! 
He has need, with nine children! 

[The voice of Millet again is heard in a snatch of 
song.] 



128 PICTURE PLAYS 



The Youth. 

Just hark how he sings! 
He's so glad to be home ! 

The Younger Washerwoman. 

Fancy. Glad to be here! 
Fancy ! Glad to leave Paris ! An artist at that ! 

The Older Washerwoman. 

[Helping the other to fold a sheet.] 
Oh, not really an artist ! Why, look what he paints ! 
Nothing nice: parks with fountains and ladies with 

fans, 
And guitar-playing lovers ! Such ev'ryday things. 
Just a field, such as this. Why, you almost can smell 
The potatoes, the newly-turned earth, or the wheat 
As the harvesters bind it, the linen we wash, 
In those pictures of his ! 

The Man. 

Aye ! There is something in that ! 

The Older Washerwoman. 
And his people, just peasants like us ! 

The Man. 

Aye; that's true. 
And so ugly ! [Naively.] Why, he's painted me ! 
[Unconsciously falling again into the picture-position. 
The others laugh at him.'] 



A MILLET GROUP 129 



The Husband. 



[With a slight, reminiscent grievance.] 
Aye. Myself and the wife here have stood for him. 

Decked 
In our Sundayfied best, for the Barbizon fete, 
There are worse-looking couples ! But Monsieur Millet 
Is for painting us just as you see ! 



The Wife. 
He means well! 



But, poor soul! 



The Youth. 
But that's beauty ! He told me. Ourselves 
As God meant, tillers, toilers of earth, with God's sky 
Overhead ! And I feel, when, in sowing the seed, 
With a prayer the first handful I toss in the form 
Of a cross — [Instinctively acting it out he falls nat- 
urally into the position of " The Sower:'] Then I 
feel — [He breaks off, smitten with self -con- 
sciousness.'] I lack words, but I feel 
What our neighbor puts into his pictures ! 

The Man. 
[Not "knowing what else to say, says'] Well, well ! 

The Mother. 

[Sitting on the edge of the Husband's wheelbarrow^] 
When I wanted to put on my earrings at least — 
Who's to know that one has them if not ! Said Mon- 
sieur, 



ISO PICTURE PLAYS 

Mother-love was adornment enough! Mother-love 
Makes the face of a woman divine, be she queen, 
Or just peasant, like me! [Cuddling her infant.'] 

Several. 
Well, there's something in that! 

The Wife. 

{With some faint apprehension of the finer thing.] 
And I, too, when it's cool and the evening is still, 
The potatoes all stacked, from yon church at Chailly, 
When the bell rings the Angelus — 

[Breaks off, lacking expression, and picks up another 
potato.] 

The Younger Washerwoman. 

[Has listened attentively. She now breaks into mocking 

laughter.] 
Clots of earth ! Clots of earth, clots of earth, ev'ry one ! 

The Older Washerwoman. 

[Resentfully.] 
Clot yourself! Aren't you one of us born? 

The Younger Washerwoman. 

Being born 
Isn't all of one's life ! Soon this Barbizon soil 
I shake off, change sabots for silk stockings, and shoes 
With high heels like a lady's ! You'll see ! 



A MILLET GROUP 131 

The Others. 

And what then? 

The Younger Washerwoman. 

[Balancing her basket on her head.'] 
And then . . . Paris ! 

The Others. 
Louise ! 

The Younger Washerwoman. 
And then, Paris! [Going.'] 

The Older Washerwoman. 
[Following her.] Louise! 

The Younger Washerwoman. 
[7s heard, laughing, and repeating.] Paris ! 

The Man. 

[Preparing to go.] 
You can't blame her. Life's hard, as she said! 

The Wife. 

Oh, not blame! 
Shall one blame what the good God permits? But at 

least 
One can pity and pray! [Crossing herself.] 



PICTURE PLAYS 



Mother. 



[Going.'] Well, my man will be in 
From the field! 

[The Youth drifts away, whistling Millets song.] 

Thb Husband. 

[Shaking dawn the potatoes in their sack.] 
life is hard, as she said. Bnt at least — 

The Wife. 

[Completing his thought.] Aye. At least, 
God be thanked ! we're together ! 

[Millet's voice again is heard softly in a snatch of 
song.] 

The Husbaxd. 

[Recurring to a former train of thought.] 

Bnt as for him jon 
And his pictures . . . ! [Shakes his head, resigning 
the subject.] 

The Wife. 

Poor soul! He means well! 
[The daylight, bright at first, gradually has declined 
to twilight. As Husbaxd and Wife, their work 
ended, prepare to leave the field, from the tower of 
ChaUly church rings the evening Angelus. Setting 
down barrow, planting pitchfork, the two bow their 
heads in prayer, repeating] : 



A MILLET GROUP 133 

" The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary, 
And she conceived of the Holy Ghost. 
Hail, Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with 
thee. : . ." 
[The bell grows fainter and fainter. The words die 
on the lips of the man and woman. The figures 
become motionless, as if the scene were being trans- 
lated from the realm of reality to that of fantasy. 
Then the curtains are drawn.'] 






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